


I Do (At Least For Tonight)

by anniebibananie



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fake Dating, Modern Era, Wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 21:09:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20880716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anniebibananie/pseuds/anniebibananie
Summary: Dickon and Sansa walk down the aisle together, and then become each other’s fake significant other for the evening. A perfectly normal progression if you ask them.





	I Do (At Least For Tonight)

**Author's Note:**

> first place for milestone madness!! can't believe this marks the official end to this entire event!! thank you to everyone who cared <3

“You’re Sansa Stark?” 

Sansa turned, her light blue dress sweeping around her calves, and eyed the man in front of her. He was taller than her, broad and bulking and with a head of nicely styled light brown hair. Frankly, he was attractive, but in a way that had fucked her over before. An 'I  _ know  _ I’m attractive' sort of attractive. 

“Who’s asking?” She crossed her arms, not much liking the way he came on sort of abrupt and near sharp. 

He must have been able to tell that he had come in on the slightly wrong foot because the next thing she knew he was sending her a blinding smile. It was warm and smooth, like he’d used it before in situations just like this. A small part of Sansa’s heart fluttered. The other 99% didn’t trust it. 

“Dickon Tarly.” He held out his hand which, holy  _ shit  _ was it huge. Her own looked practically doll-like as she shook. “We’re partnered up to walk down the aisle together.” 

“What did I do to deserve the privilege of walking with the groom’s brother?” she asked. Someone like Harry would have not even noticed the underlying tone. Willas would have politely laughed and tugged her closer, asking why she was feeling snarky. Joffrey would have bottled it up with a smile and yelled at her later. 

Dickon? Dickon just laughed. A gruff sort of chuckle, and when he looked at her again after his head was momentarily thrown back, that smile from before was transformed into something that was closer to real—a little wider, a little toothier. 

“You know the politics better than I do, I’m sure.” 

The things Sansa knew about Dickon could form a tightly packed list. He was Sam’s baby brother, but he had excelled in every way Sam had not. He was athletic, charismatic, loved by their father. While Sam was away at university, Dickon had began his hockey career and quickly rose to fame. They were night and day, but Sam and Gilly had never said anything but kind things about him when they’d been prepping for their wedding. 

“Maybe you’ve been away from home for too long. The politics are surely different than you remember.” 

He tilted his head to the side, hands in his pockets. “Maybe.” For a second, he seemed on the edge of a thought, on a moment, but then he physically shook it off. 

His body changed again. He grew taller, stretched out, and when he stepped closer to her she had to tilt her head up to seem him in full. 

“Shall we do this?” he asked, holding his arm out to her. 

Sansa had been in her own world, sort of lost in thought about the day, and when she turned to look where the rest of the wedding party was she could see them all getting lined up. Edd caught her eyes and gave her a little wave. She smiled and waved back. 

“Sure,” she said, looping her arm through his. “Showtime and all that.”

* * *

The first person to approach her is some aunt of Sam’s (Sansa would guess if she had to wager a guess). She was short and sharp, an intense set to her brow, but she reached out a hand and squeezed Sansa’s own when they met at the bar. 

“You looked so stunning today dear, and we’re just so happy.” 

“Oh, uh…” Sansa met Jon’s eyes over the woman’s shoulder, trying to get some sort of answer from him on what was going on, but he merely gave her an unhelpful shrug before turning back toward Ygritte. What a useless bastard. “Thank you? It’s a very happy day for Sam and Gilly.” 

“Sam and Gilly?” the woman asked. She waved her hand. “Yes, of course for them, but I was talking about you and Dickon, darling. It really is about time he’s gotten himself back on the horse so to say.”

“Me and Dickon?” Sansa couldn’t think of a single time the two of them had interacted besides their brief conversation before the aisle and the aisle itself. “You must be mistaken, really, he…” 

“Was just saying the loveliest things about you,” she replied. “You two seem very happy.” 

The woman disappeared before Sansa could get another word in. She just… stood there, stared off for a second, thought about how the hell her life had become a joke this cosmically large. 

* * *

The second was another aunt. The third an old high school friend. The fourth was Sam. 

“Heard you and my brother are apparently an item,” Sam said through a joyful smile. He brought his beer to his lips, not able to stop smiling even as he drank. 

Though, Sansa thought that might be influenced by the fact that Gilly was holding his free hand. 

“Please, very kindly and respectfully, fuck off,” Sansa replied. “Is he saying something, because I don’t understand why bizarre relatives I’ve never met keep coming up to me.” 

“I think he might just be not saying anything, you know?” Gilly answered. She shrugged, leaning into her husband’s side. “Might be worth a chat. Sorry to leave you in a lurch, Sansa, but we’ve got to make the rounds.” 

Sansa scoffed. “It’s almost like you two think it’s your wedding day or something. What? Is it supposed to be all about you?” She dipped forward and kissed Gilly’s cheek as she giggled. Then she stepped back and patted her arm before turning toward the fray and searching out Dickon Tarly. 

It took a bit of searching, but she found him sitting at the kid’s table signing a napkin for a little boy. Sansa cleared her throat when he was done and waited for him to look her way. The smile that spread across Dickon’s face as he looked up should not have made her stomach twist, but it was so  _ bright _ . 

“What rumors have you been spreading, Tarly?” she asked as she crossed her arms in front of her chest. 

He pushed up from the table and stood in front of her, making her have to tilt her head slightly up instead. She hated having to look up at men. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I haven’t been saying anything.”

“Oh, so relatives have just been coming up to me because you’re not saying  _ anything  _ about us dating? Guess it’s just one big misunderstanding, and I can go clear it up with them…” Sansa turned dramatically with a fling of her hair, and she’d barely made it a foot before Dickon was carefully grasping her arm. 

“Sansa.” He paused, and she turned back toward him. “Okay, I’m  _ not  _ saying anything so that it says something.” His hand ran through his hair and made it a little disheveled, though it mostly fell back into place. 

She nodded then motioned for her hand like  _ and?  _

He shuffled from foot to foot, and honestly it was pretty cute.  _ Get a grip, Stark. Come on.  _ “So here’s the thing.” He paused again. 

Sansa sighed. “Dickon, come on. I’m getting old just waiting for you to tell me what’s probably incredibly mundane information.” 

“I had a very serious girlfriend who cheated on me about a year ago, and the whole family thinks I’m some wounded bird,” he told her. It was clear it was hard for him to make eye contact as he said it, his gaze drifting from table to table and some wayward spot above her head. “When they all thought I was dating the  _ illustrious, radiant  _ Sansa Stark they were happy. They let up.” 

_ Illustrious Sansa Stark.  _ She knew they were meant to be good words, the sort of words that made other people feel complimented, but it just reminded Sansa of the whole goddamn image of  _ Sansa Stark. Perfect daughter. Perfect employee. Perfect, perfect, perfect.  _ The word perfect was a goddamn noose, and she hated it. 

He was smiling at her still kindly, but she saw the flicker at the edge of his face like he knew he might have misstepped. It wasn’t his fault, really, she had been the one to don the persona in the first place. It made life easier for her parents, her family. There were so many wild kids, and her parents couldn't hold everything all at once, and so what if Sansa sometimes gave up things she wanted so others could be happy? She loved making the people she loved happy. 

She just desperately wished it didn’t always come down to her. And here Dickon was, sort of asking her the same thing. 

“Sansa? Is that you?” 

Sansa felt her breath catch, but then she was turning around. “Willas! Hi, how are you?” Sansa could feel her fingers begin to twitch. 

Willas hadn’t been  _ bad,  _ he certainly wasn’t the worst of them by any means, but he wasn’t  _ good,  _ either. He’d always wanted her to be so perfect to the point where Sansa wasn’t sure which of her qualities he had actually fallen in love with besides her name and her beauty. Willas could be kind and sweet, but he had ambition that overrode other things, and it was Sansa’s fault, too. She never spoke up, let herself be the martyr because she thought that's what he wanted. 

It was sort of a mess, and here Willas was with some beautiful woman on his arm looking all sorts of prince-like himself. 

“I’m good.” He looked toward his girlfriend. “Great, actually. And you? What an exciting day for Sam and Gilly, isn’t it?” 

“Oh, yes. Most definitely. Just beautiful,” Sansa said. Oh god, was she becoming a blathering idiot? She hated feeling stupid, like she couldn’t articulate the person she most wanted to be. “I’m great, actually. I’m…” 

She turned then, realizing she was really going to do this. Dickon was looking at her like he already knew exactly what was going to happen. She wanted to turn away, pretend she wasn’t going to do exactly what he had done to her, but then she was holding out her hand, and he was taking it easily. 

“I guess we’ve never properly been introduced,” Dickon said, reaching out his free hand toward Willas. “Dickon Tarly.” 

Willas’s face soured. “We’ve met at one of Margaery’s functions.” 

Sansa had to hide a snort, and she could tell by the squeeze Dickon gave her hand that Dickon knew  _ exactly  _ what he was doing. Okay, so he clearly knew all these sorts of people in his own life—the sort that were used to being remembered, that it stung for when they weren’t more than anything. 

“Sorry, I meet a lot of people on the daily. I’m sure you understand. And you are?” Dickon asked, turning toward the girl. 

Her face lit up. “Oh, I’m Beth _ .  _ It’s lovely to meet you. I’m a big hockey fan, and you’ve having just an incredible season.” 

“Thank you, it means a lot.” He turned his face toward Sansa, giving her an affectionate smile. “Couldn’t do much of anything without this one supporting me, though. And have you heard about her last year in business? The flower shop has been doing incredible. Sansa provided all the flowers for the wedding.” 

“Oh! The arrangements are stunning,” she said, a genuine smile. 

Sansa almost felt bad for this girl who seemed all sorts of nice and sweet, but maybe she was perfect for Willas. Maybe they were happy, and if they were Sansa was fine with that. She wasn’t bitter or jealous she just… wanted to move on, be happy herself. 

“Thank you,” Sansa said. “I’m sorry to rush off, but my boyfriend promised me a drink. It was a pleasure to meet you, Beth _ . _ ” 

They said quick goodbyes, Dickon and Sansa’s hands interlocked the whole time, and by the time Sansa had arrived at the bar she couldn’t help it anymore. She burst into laughter. Dickon seemed not far behind her, letting his hand go and leaning up against the bar. 

“Wow, Sansa Stark. What  _ rumors have you been spreading _ ?” he asked, teasing with the same words she had used earlier. His smile was radiant. 

Sansa was constantly shaken by every smile he released because they all seemed real, full, like he wasn’t ashamed by letting his happiness into the world. 

“Fine, I’ll amend my previous statements. Having a fake wedding boyfriend has proved incredibly useful. I’m sorry for giving you so much flack earlier.” Wow, his smiles were sort of infectious. She couldn’t help her own from spreading wide across her face. “I do want a drink though. You can afford it rich hockey star, can’t you?” 

He tilted his head, examining her. He shook it and turned toward the bartender, giving him his order then letting Sansa order her own. 

“How’d you know all that?” Sansa asked as they waited. 

“What?” he asked, brows scrunching in curiosity. 

“About my job and the flowers.” 

“My brother and Gilly talk about you all the time, and I like to pay attention to the people I care about and the people  _ they  _ care about. Plus, seemed like it might be sort of useful to know a few facts and figures about the girl I was walking down the aisle with. You never know when you might have to force her to be your fake girlfriend.” 

“Yeah, you know, that super common wedding experience.” She thanked the bartender as he passed her the wine.

He took a pull from his beer, back leaned against the bar, and the two of them watched the scene in front of them. There were a ton of people here—family and friends alike. Sansa had thought it was surprising they had gone so large, mostly because Sansa knew Sam’s parents weren’t much for financial help and Gilly’s were nonexistent—but it had come together beautifully. 

It was beautiful. A sort of fairytale-esque dream she had for herself once upon a time. The princes had quickly become the hard part of the whole equation, and Sansa had given up on all of them. She’d forged her own way ahead, fixed her own life up, tried to build something to be proud of. 

And she was. She’d created something with her own two hands that was nearly better than anything she could have dreamed of, but it didn’t mean she still didn’t  _ want.  _ When she saw Ygritte and Jon or Gilly and Sam. Hell, Gendry and Arya even. She watched them, saw the genuine connection they had and… 

That was too depressing for the evening, and she took a drink of her wine instead. “So,” she began, turning to look at Dickon with his strong jaw and open eyes. He looked like a fairytale prince, really. “Any other relatives you need to spin some tales to?” 

* * *

Sansa wrapped her arm around his waist, pulling herself into his side as he laid his own arm over her shoulder. They were talking to an aunt, Sansa was pretty sure, but it could have been a second cousin or something. She didn’t really care, mostly she had just seen the fierce look of determination in Dickon’s eyes and had willingly let herself be pulled over here. 

“So, here’s the  _ real  _ kicker. Why, I’ve just been talking up a storm. I should really let Dickon finish this story, shouldn’t I?” Sansa bit her bottom lip to keep herself from giggling, turning her gaze up toward Dickon who was now wearing a more forced smile. “Dickon, how did we end up saving the party from the bird infestation?” 

“Dear, you tell it so much better, though.” 

Sansa laughed, tapping his chest. She turned toward the aunt, who was tall and red-haired with a pleasant expression. Mostly, she looked happy to just be along for the ride with whatever stories they wanted to tell. 

“Dickon, don’t do that. You know you love to tell this bit.” 

He laughed a little, the sound closed off, and then he was turning back toward the aunt. “It’s embarrassing, I have to admit it. I mean, here I am a six foot three inch tall hockey player, and I’m scared of the swarming group of birds outside, but it’s Sansa’s birthday I can’t just let the party stay inside. I snuck around to the back through the front and was able to grab the hose, spraying them away. Don’t you remember?” 

“Oh, yes,” Sansa said. “They started swooping right for his head, and I just wouldn’t have that. So I just run out the screen door  _ screaming  _ to get these things to run away, and they finally flew off. Thank god, the party could go on though perhaps with some of the furniture a bit more wet than before.” 

The aunt dipped her head back, laughter shaking her whole body. “You two are just the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. You should have a talk show or something.” 

“Dickon is much better on camera than I am,” Sansa replied, patting his arm again. 

Dickon squeezed her into his side. “Sansa is forever so modest, isn’t she? A woman as incredible as her? She could do whatever she wants.” 

The aunt sighed. “I could listen to you two all day, but unfortunately I have a husband to get back to. Any chance…” She shook her head, tossing her hand in the air between them. “I shouldn’t ask.” 

“Oh, don’t be shy. What is it?” Sansa asked as she fluttered her eyelashes, playing into exactly who this woman wanted her to be. It was an easy role to slip into after years of it. 

“Alright then,” she began, her face lighting up. She leaned forward conspiratorially. “Any chance you guys are going to… tie the knot soon?” 

Sansa giggled, turning toward Dickon and giving a slight wink. “We haven’t thought that far in the future yet, but that's so sweet.” 

“We like to take it every day at a time,” Dickon added. 

“Fair enough. You two kids have a wonderful rest of your night, okay?” She turned toward Dickon and patted his shoulder. “You have a good one here, don’t mess this up.” She winked, and then was gone. 

“Holy shit,” Sansa released in a breath. “Holy  _ shit. _ ” 

“That has to be a record. She just asked if we’re ready for marriage.” Dickon laughed and reached up to loosen his tie, undoing the top button of his shirt and running a hand briefly over his neck. 

Sansa’s eyes watched the action, unable to pull away. She shook her head and cleared her throat. Honestly, she probably just really needed to get laid and Dickon was just making it all the worse for her. It was like someone had designed her kryptonite and rolled it into the form of Dickon Tarly. Entirely unfair. 

“I never knew I would be such a great fake girlfriend, but here we are,” Sansa said. She brought the glass of wine to her mouth just to realize it was empty. “Shit.” 

“Need more wine?” he asked. 

“I’ll go get it myself. Want anything?” 

He shook his head. “Probably just gonna hop off to the bathroom for a minute.” He took a few steps backward. “Fuck you for the bird story, by the way.” 

She flipped him off and smiled wide. “Love you, honey bear.” 

She did not watch his back as he left. She did  _ not.  _

* * *

“You and Dickon Tarly, eh?” Arya asked, spinning around on her stool dramatically. 

Sansa gasped and brought a hand to her chest. “Holy shit. Why did you do that?” 

“I tried to dissuade her, but it’s like trying to tell a cat to… well, trying to tell a cat anything,” Gendry offered. 

Sansa looked past her sister on the stool to her boyfriend standing behind him. “Hi, Gendry. I apprecaite the effort at least.” 

He shrugged. “We do what we can with her.” 

Sansa reached out a fist and Gendry bumped it back. 

“I wish you’d never become friends. It’s ruining my life,” Arya spoke, physically pushing Sansa and Gendry’s fists away from one another. “Back to my more important and dramatic question. What is  _ that  _ all about?” 

“We’re being each other’s fake significant other for the evening.” Sansa shrugged in an attempt to say  _ this is a totally normal thing normal people do.  _ “I got to peeve Willas, so it’s been pretty fun honestly.” 

“I like Dickon,” Arya announced. “He’s a very good player, has puck control like few others in the league.” 

Sansa nodded solemnly like she knew what that meant. “Do you like anything about him say… I don’t know, as a person?” 

“If you’re asking if he’s good enough for you,” Arya began, popping a cherry from her drink into her mouth, “the answer will always be no. You are an ethereal being and no mortal can match you, but if you’re asking if I think he’s slightly better than most men, the answer is yes. I could tolerate him for an evening.” 

Sansa tilted her head. “How long could you tolerate Gendry?’ 

Arya waved it off. “That’s neither here nor there.” 

“I think this is a very relevant discussion,” Gendry chimed in. 

“What is?” Dickon asked, appearing from goddamn  _ nowhere.  _

Sansa jolted again, bringing a hand back to her chest. “People  _ need  _ to stop startling me.” 

Dickon held up his hands. “Sorry. Where’s your drink? Did you order yet?” 

“No. I got distracted by these two absolute buffoons.” Sansa waved to the pair. “This is Arya my sister and Gendry her boyfriend.” 

“Nice to meet you,” Dickon offered with a smile and a slight wave of his hand. 

Arya nodded. “I’m sure it is. I won’t say it’s nice to meet you until I’m sure it is, but I can say with certainty I am now in fact meeting you. We have met.” 

“Sorry, we don’t usually let her go outside,” Gendry offered from behind her. He grunted as she elbowed him hard in the stomach. 

“Have you ever seen true love look so romantic?” Sansa asked through a playful smile. 

“It’s just beautiful.” He laughed, stepping closer to lean toward the bar. “Let’s get you a drink, yeah?” 

The music shifted, and at first Sansa was going to ignore it, but she  _ loved  _ this song. This song had made her cry the first time she heard it. She remembered it coming over the radio in her car and having to turn it all the way up, listen to every word and savor it in her head. 

“Or maybe we should dance.” 

“I love this song.” 

“You’re cute. I can tell.” He held out his hand. “Come on, to the floor.” 

She let herself be dragged, ignoring the thumb’s up Arya gave Sansa when she looked over her shoulder and the excited nod Gendry joined in with. When they got to the floor Dickon settled himself, grasping her waist delicately and readjusting his hold on her hand. 

“I can’t guarantee I’m as graceful off of the ice,” he told her. 

“It’s just nice that you offered.” She knew she should try to make more conversation, focus on him, but she wanted to lose herself to the music. 

They swayed, and as the song went on they came closer and closer together. Sansa let her body enjoy the rhythm and melody as it moved in time with Dickon. Halfway through, she decided she was done with playing by decorum and rested her head on his chest. Hell, they’d pretended to be dating all night, anyways, what did it really matter. What did Sansa care about the opinions of anyone else, anyways? 

When the song ended, Sansa had to take a deep breath. She turned toward Dickon, and he was looking at her like… like something rare and precious but not fragile. His thumb came up to her cheek and wiped what must have been a stray tear away. 

“You want to go for a walk in the gardens?” 

He hadn’t made it weird. He just… took her as she was, let her be and feel. She nodded without hesitation. 

* * *

Sansa fell onto the stone bench out back in the garden, shoes already kicked off as she rested on one palm and brought her champagne flute they’d stolen from a passing tray to her mouth with her other. 

Dickon stayed standing in front of her, hands stuffed in his pockets. It had been a long night filled with dancing and jokes, ridiculous schemes really, and he somehow still looked airbrush perfect. 

_ You don’t believe he’s real, _ Sam had once described him as. 

_ Looks and acts sometimes like he was in a frat, has a heart of gold though _ , Gilly had warned her. 

Sansa wasn’t sure what her sentence for him would be, yet, but she thought maybe she was getting closer.

“You’re going to have to prove you’re real,” Dickon said to her. 

She arched a brow. “Excuse me?” 

“You know what I’ve heard about you leading up to this wedding? Perfect. Kind and whip-smart and beautiful as sin. How am I supposed to believe you’re real?” His smile was on that edge of charming and smug that unfortunately made Sansa’s heart flip in her chest. “It only seems more so since I’ve met you.” 

She couldn’t help but think about earlier again.  _ The illustrious Sansa Stark.  _ Like she was just a legend you’d heard about but not something you ever expected to see in the wild, but she was sure he had seen her tonight, or at the very least brief snippets of her. 

She wasn’t always easy to get to know, but she thought she was pretty worth knowing once you did. 

“You’ve met one of my ex-boyfriends tonight and know most of my family. I  _ cried  _ during our slow dance. You have to know that I'm not perfect,” she replied. “And what about you? Successful hockey star Dickon Tarly. How am I supposed to believe  _ you’re _ real?” 

He held out his hands, doing a little turn that Sansa couldn’t help herself from giggling about. When he stopped, the joke fell away and he shrugged. 

“I’m surface deep, nothing interesting.” He paused again, and Sansa didn’t know what she wanted to say so she didn’t say anything, and then after a beat Dickon made his way over to her side and sat beside her. “Perfect kid syndrome.” 

“What?” she asked, turning and looking at him. Up close he was perfect, too, no blemishes or marks to mar his skin. 

“Try to be perfect. Try not to cause problems,” he said. “Just wanted to make our parents proud so they’d be a little less stressed out, be a little kinder maybe in my case. Didn’t work, probably, but it left us with our own neurosis.” He brought a hand up to his jaw and ran a hand over it. “Or am I off base?” 

Sansa gulped. She thought about the way she used to sit in the window and watch her siblings play instead of joining in. The nights she did homework instead of going on wild adventures. The perfectly painted nails and smiles and… “No. You’re not off base,” she told him. 

Dickon reached out a hand to cover her own on the bench. There were no eyes here. No act to play. She let him anyway. 

“I don’t think you’re surface deep,” she told him. She flipped her hand around and spread her fingers wide, letting his own slip between them. When she looked up, he was already watching her. “I think you’re kind and funny and have one hell of a big heart.” 

“A big heart? Haven’t you heard? I’m just a dumb jock,” Dickon said. His scoff was bitter, short and not at all like the laughs he’d been giving so freely the rest of the night. “I was never able to do enough for him, to help make being home less shitty…” 

“You love your brother,” Sansa told him. He’d turned his face away in bitterness, and she squeezed his hand tight now as she waited for him to turn his gaze around. When his eyes were trained on her face again, she pushed out all the words with the level of certainty he deserved. “You love your brother, and it’s  _ obvious.  _ I promise you Sam knows it. I also suspect you put a lot of money into this wedding so they could have the day of their dreams, and I think you wish you could have done it with none of the credit, either. You hate the relatives trying to make this day about you, and you  _ saved  _ me—”

“Sansa,” he cut her off, his face lighter already from when she’d begun, “you’ve said some outlandish things in your speech, but I have to cut you off there. I didn’t save you.” 

“You—” 

“You are not a girl who needs saving,” he told her. “Not that there’s anything wrong with being saved because I sure as hell have needed it a time or two, but you strike me as the sort of girl who’s saved herself more than she should have and is pretty good at it.” 

“Maybe…” she trailed off, thinking about all the moments and memories they’d shared tonight. She would never be able to look back on this day and not think about  _ him.  _ “We should let ourselves have a break tonight from all that pressure. I know you’re real, and I hope you know I am, too.” 

He nodded. “Sansa Stark. Real girl. Seems pretty crazy, I don’t know if I can wrap my head around it.” His laugh was faint, and the light breeze carried it away. 

She hit her shoulder into his, and then she just… stayed there. She let her cheek rest against his shoulder, shifting a little closer. Their fingers were still tangled together, and she held their clasped palms in her lap. Without realizing it, she’d started trailing her pointer finger over them and marking all the lines they made together. 

“You’ve unfortunately made me like you,” she admitted after a few minutes of resting in each other’s warmth. 

“I’ve always liked you,” he replied. “Every minute only makes me like you more.” 

“See!” she exclaimed as she stopped leaning against him and turned her chest just enough to make eye contact. “It’s shit like that when  _ you  _ say it that doesn’t seem real. That's such a line.” 

“I don’t use lines,” he answered through that stupid, beautiful and wide smile of his. “Okay, maybe I use lines, but mostly just on you. You’re sort of worth being cheesy for, Sansa. I’m just holding my fucking breath trying not to mess it up.” 

She beamed back at him. “Do you normally plan elaborate fake dating ruses to get yourself dates?” 

“I’m beta testing it right now. I’ll get back to you on the final results.” 

“I don’t know if you’re ready for the results.” 

“No?” He raised a brow, and before he could say anything else Sansa had leaned forward and brought their lips together. 

It was sweet. It was delicate. It was  _ perfect.  _

And with Dickon, out in a garden with statues and twinkling lights and the glittering moon above them, she didn’t mind that word in the least. He was real, and she was real, but in that moment it did sort of feel like a fairytale. 

Maybe, every once in a while, she could enjoy some perfect. She certainly deserved it. 

**Author's Note:**

> more fun to be had at: [anniebibananie](http://anniebibananie.tumblr.com/)


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